


Gravity

by SmutWithPlot



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Reality, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, F/F, F/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Prostitution, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2197647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutWithPlot/pseuds/SmutWithPlot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Every high comes at a price." Magick as drug use, following Frank Gold's rise and decent, and the part that gravity has to play. Graphic drug use, sex (smutty AND ugly, if I've my way), alcoholism (one of my favourites) and lots of guilt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Poor Bargain

**Author's Note:**

> It's a concept I've been fiddling about with for some time -- the direct metaphor of magick as an addiction. The trickiest part was translating Rumple's well-meaning acquisition of power into the line of drug use. And I decided Heroin would be a nice start...
> 
> I'm not even going to go with the "I know a guy" nonsense, because I've legitimately never partaken of any of this stuff, so if it's spot on or outrageously inaccurate, it's because my research is entirely second hand. Obviously, don't do drugs. It's stupid, it's a waste of money and energy, and it's incredibly bad for your health. I think a large part of the reason why I'm writing this /now/ is because I've recently been dabbling with the Joker, of Batman, and between Heath Ledger and Robin Williams' recent passing, the idea of hardcore drug abuse on the sideline of an otherwise incredibly successful career strikes me as a good topic. And Gold would definitely fit that character sketch. So, in a way, I dedicate this one to Robin. The tragic side of the comedic coin.
> 
> I'm endeavouring to keep the translation as close as I can, but it's going to get ugly. The first chapter is pretty quick and dirty, to get the backstory set up, but I intend to explore this alternative with Regina as a coworker who uses, and Belle as a new one that doesn't, and tries to clean him up. Hook will make an appearance as a rather pushy drug dealer that is going to test my patience as I try to write something I've never written before (gay smut -- don't get too excited, we'll see if it even happens), and probably Cora in there, too. A visiting dignitary maybe? I don't know. But as it is, it's 3:30 in the morning here, and I've been working at this bloody thing for an hour, so you'll have to be content with this first bit for now.

It started years ago. My son, Bae. He… He'd gotten into a bad crowd.

I suppose it started before that, then. When his mother, Mary, left us. To be fair, when we'd met, we were of a kind. Poor. Struggling. We were young enough, foolish and wild, and if she abused my tender heart, maybe I didn't mind it so much. Prudence suggested marriage, partly for the warm bed, but also for the joint accounts. It was a pretty lie, and we even made a son of it, but we never got much farther than the next paycheck. For a long while, it had been a dinner out. Then it had been baby food. Now, it seemed to always go to the child, except for the rare bottle of wine.

The wine became whisky, and rum. Higher proof, mix it with the store brand cola, went a lot farther than the wine. And a couple fingers of scotch could put me to sleep on a night where the bills weighed too heavily on my mind. It wasn't long before my wife realized her face was still pretty enough that a friend at work might be so kind as to offer her a drink after hours. Then it was a _male_  friend. And then she stopped coming home altogether.

I still drank, but only to sleep. Worried where my wife was, but I made sure my son did his homework, ate his dinner and went to bed before I partook. I had a handle on things. If I slipped a sip here and there, it was never enough to be noticed. When Mary's _friend_  from work came by to pick up her things, the disgust and apathy in her eyes told the story.

"…She's not coming back, is she?"

"I'm just getting a change of clothes," she answered. I watched her stuff entire drawers into a duffel bag and felt the noose tighten around my neck. We were barely making it with two. How would we survive on one?

Things got much harder after that. I started seeking out food banks for bread and staples rather than bothering at the grocery store. We almost never had milk any more as I clipped coupons for meat and veggies I could stock the freezer with, and dry things like noodles that lasted and stretched. I managed to get Bae on a school program for the financially struggling, and envied his three hot meals a day while I generally scraped by on two. I got lean and mean at work, and got a steal one payday on some quality work boots. Saturdays and Sundays, I would head down to the foreman's and see if anyone needed labour done, and I started getting picked regularly. I nearly cried the first time I had earned three hundred in one day, and I took Bae out to a real buffet. I barely ate an entire plate, my appetite was so small, but my boy ate three. Bills started getting paid before they were due, and we got new clothes instead of patches. Thrift store new, but new to us. By middle school, Bae started visiting friends, and I set aside a hefty $20 for his allowance. It bought him pride, and the freedom to do as he wished with his companions, and I was pleased to see him happy again.

The foreman offered me a better job. Instead of moonlighting as a construction worker, I could _be_  one all week. It was hard work, but it paid well, and I had proven I could do it. I started working better hours for better pay, and Bae and I found an apartment in a better end of town. I got promoted to manager, and we got a small _house_. I thought things were going well. I had been tried, I had been tested, and I'd proven I could _do_  this.

But I hadn't anticipated how hard it would be on Bae. At first, I thought it was just typical teenager drama, but he was drifting away from me.

He started pushing me for more allowance money. I'd make up some rubbish chore for him to do, but eventually he stopped playing along. He would curse, and be rude. He would go out with friends and not come back when he said, and then I'd realize he hadn't told me which friend he was seeing. I had to start keeping notes of who he had visit, but they changed every so often. He stopped buying clothes or going to movies or bowling or any of the things I'd expect him to spend his allowance on, and spent hours either locked in his room with his music up or out in the world doing god knew what. I started eating my meals alone, and I worried.

Then one night I found something that terrified me. It had been hidden in the wastebasket under balled up newspaper that I knew for a fact he didn't read. I wept in my bathroom, crumpled over what had once been paper and green and waited a sleepless night for a son who didn't come home.

"Jesus, Frank, you look like shit," a coworker noted, astute as ever.

"…Bae's using drugs," I replied, my voice a croak. Instead of the mockery I have suspected, I found out that he could be a wealth of knowledge.

I had a gun from the old days, and I put it on my person. Clutching a school photo and what little of my gut I had left, I knocked on a dinghy door that had been a neighbor in my past life. The man who answered was haggard, with beady eyes and a voice that was raspy behind a chain lock.

"What do you want?"

"I am looking for this boy," I answered, my voice steady even as my heart beat wildly. I held up a picture of my son to him, praying to god I was wrong, but also that I was right and that this would be the end of it.

The man peered, and then he shut the door. I waited as he unlocked the slide, and opened further. "Come in. Let me see if he's here."

The place was… threadbare. A mattress on the floor, with an old, ratty blanket on top. Clothes about, and bottles and cans of varying things. He stepped into a side room, and peered in. He looked back at me, and then back in the room.

"…Sorry, mate, he's not in--"

The gun in my hand made him stop, and he lifted his hands in quiet supplication. I swallowed, my blood pounding in my ears, but my hand was perfectly still.

"…He's not here," he said again, soft. "I'm sorry."

"Then where is he?" My voice was not so steady, and I blinked away tears. _How could he do this to me?_

"Don't know. But I see him, I'll let you know you're looking for him."

"Do you have _any_  idea who I am?" I demanded. All the work I'd done, toiled in sweat and tears for that boy, and this is what he does…

"You're his father, I reckon," the man answered. He backed away from me, but his eyes didn't exactly hold fear… More a primal patience.

"Don't you _ever_... _Don't you EVER_. Sell your filth to my boy again, do you hear?!"

The man's eyes darted into the room… And then back at me. "You got it, mate. I'll send him off home next time."

He sounded reasonable, and yet I knew it couldn't be this easy. I lowered the gun, marveling at myself. _How did I come down this far so quickly?_  It was this place, I told myself. It was giving me these thoughts… These urges. That wild, desperate rage as I fought, tooth and nail, for basic survival… I turned to go, wondering what I would do now, where would I go? Where was my _son?_

"But if you could just tell me--"

When I turned, the man was not alone, someone younger, and fiercer, and wilder than he came towards me, his eyes piercing and his hair black, and I felt something hard and sharp stab at my chest. I cursed, stumbling back, but the hellion hung on a moment longer before scurrying back into the room, his man following.

"Oh Jesus!" I whispered, frantic, my hand shaking as it reached to whatever… I pulled it out with another cry, and held it to my eye.

 _It's a needle_.

And that's when it hit me. _Glory_. Glory and light and beauty and a world without _pain_. It was like… It was like that perfect spring morning. It was a Sunday, and you'd had a fine picnic with fresh grapes… A cleverly crafted sandwich, and a bottle of crisp, cold chardonnay… She's laughing beside you, black curls, red lips, a dress the yellow of sunshine as she laughs and laughs… And you're laughing, too. And that moment is so perfect…

Only it's a hundred times better. You just feel… _Like heaven_. All the worries, the stress, the doubt, the fear… It's all gone. I'm not thinking of drug dealers, or of my son, or how this could ruin _everything_  I've worked so hard to put together for us, I'm only thinking of how absolutely wonderful I feel… It's ecstasy. It's euphoria. It's pure _bliss_ , and I am lost in the rapture of it all. The pure delight… It's all consuming and it's light and it's…

…And it's gone just as fast. As high as I was flying, I am thrown to the ground with a sickening cruelty. When a moment I was laughing, I now let out a sob. It's a crushing, debilitating sorrow, and I writhe in the pain of the soul.

"Oh god!" I cry out. "What have you done to me?!"

Blinking, the dingy world comes back to me, shades of steel and rot and decay. Shapes move in the shadows, and the men standing over me all have bags thrown together, and one of them tosses a bright fire back into the other room.

"We take no chances," says the old man, who is watching me.

"Please…" I beg them, reaching out to him for mercy. "He's just a boy…"

"And you're just a man," he growls back to me, raspy as the devil himself. " You've just learned an important truth. _Gravity_. What goes up… Must come down. Every high has a price."

He takes a moment to be smug, and I take a moment to be heartbroken. And before I know it, there is the sound of a gunshot, and I can't feel my hand.

"Sweet Jesus!" one of them shouts. "Z!" He scurries over, the old man gaping and wondering. I shoot this one, too, and I hear a girl screaming. She's not stupid enough to get in my line of sight, and starts running away. A fire alarm starts going off, but the sprinklers don't. I pull myself up to my feet, telling myself, _I've got to find Bae… I've got to find Bae..._  But first, I have to get out of here.

I call Bae on my way home. When I ask him where he is, this time he says he's come home. Eating leftovers that I'd left him the night before.

"Stay there," I warn him. "We have a lot to talk about."

I don't tell him that I went to Z's place, looking for him. I don't tell him about the two drug dealers that are now attached to the pistol I have stashed in a locker at the train terminal, determined to claim it stolen if the cops come to ask. And I certainly don't tell him about my visit to heaven and the crash thereafter, because I think he might know more about it than I want to know. I only tell him he's grounded for a month, and pull out a rage in me that he rarely ever sees. It scares him pretty good, and I imagine that he's a little high judging by the food he's devoured out of the pantry. Paranoia is a side effect, right? Good.

I pour myself a scotch, and have to take two to get myself to sleep. And I have to sleep to get it out of my  _head_.


	2. The Miller's Daughter

Things... Got better. They also got worse, but... Not in ways I could readily express.

Being grounded for a month meant I could keep an eye on Bae, and about two days into it, I got a call from one of his teachers, reporting that he'd been skipping classes and was starting to fail. He happened to be standing in the room with me when the phone call came in, so I was not quiet about it when I replied to his teacher that, yes, I'd found the problem, and that he was presently grounded for _three_ months now (which earned a groan) and that I would make absolutely certain he would complete all of it. He was required to bring me a comprehensive list, sorted by class in order they were assigned, and I made sure he did all of it.

"If you'd done all of this when it was assigned instead of doing things that could quite frankly get you _arrested_ , Baremy, you wouldn't have to be doing it now."

"Yes, Papa."

"And she's sent you _extra credit_ as well. I expect you to do all of it."

He sighed. "Yes, Papa."

I also interrogated the boy for the phone numbers to all his friends' parents, to inform _them_ of the recreational drug use. Some of them clearly didn't care, and I made a note to never let him associate with those boys again, and the ones who did were also grounded and put on a similar regime. Actually, it didn't take a whole three months for him to finish this work, and I gave him a little leeway that he could have one of his friends over (the ones that had not been involved) now and again, provided they stayed home and I supervised. I felt like a dictator, but he was at a young enough age I could still do it, and be well within my rights. He would be old enough to drive soon, and I needed to have him under my thumb now before he would have more freedom to do worse things.

In truth... I was punishing myself as much as I was punishing him. By insisting on having his friend visits at home, I marked how often I was at home or at work. It was harder to get off in a timely manner what with my promotion to supervisor, but there was hopes of getting an office job, something with better hours so I could be home more. Someone else in the company suggested I try for accountant, with my head for figures, and I signed up for some classes that I could take on the weekend. By the time they started, Bae was ungrounded, but I checked on him regularly, and he reported back as much as he could. Losing his "fun" friends made him grumpy, but I'd rather he hate his father and not ruin his life.

After that, things happened rather quickly. My foreman sang my praises, telling how I had scrapped from part time help, to full-time, to supervisor, and then to this, showing ambition, skill, zeal, and a bunch of other exciting words I didn't quite feel worthy of. They didn't know about the gun I had finally disposed of, or the men I'd killed with it. They didn't know about my boy's reckless adventure in the world of recreational drug use, or my inadvertent revelation in kind. They didn't know how that teasing taste of power stole my thoughts away, some miracle elixir that I could never find a name for, and that burning need, that curiousity, to know more. I had my boy to think about, and I focused on that. Better job, better hours, better boy. I had to. God knew what had happened to Mary. For all I knew, she was the screaming woman that haunted my nightmares, begging for mercy from a wild man who was desperate to survive.

They didn't know about any of that. They just knew me, Frank Gold, hard working fellow determined to make something of himself. And they wanted to give me that opportunity.

By the time Bae was in his Junior year of high school, I had become a well-respected accountant in the field. I say "well-respected" loosely, because my job was to nitpick over tedious books looking for crooks and idiots to make mistakes where I could catch and correct them. After the incident with Bae's... indiscretion, I had become a great deal more wary about who I let him associate with, and had become quite the discerning judge of character. After about two weeks, I could overview an account and tell you if he was inept, stealing from you, or purposefully cutting corners. After ousting one of my own higher-ups for fraud, I not only got a very nice bonus, but a promotion, and with it a much nicer condo in a far better end of town. Bae was not so happy to be moving halfway through his sophomore year, but he would have to learn to cope with a better education. I also got a new car for myself, so he got my older, yet still reliable automobile to drive around in, so I think that bought his acceptance rather well. He started to work, too, and that left me with more time for my own career.

Frank Gold. A man who had finally lived up to his name. It wasn't quite a corner office, but I kept people on their toes. A shrewd accountant made for smarter investments, and when the company prospered, so did I. But everything changed the day I met Cora Mills, the daughter of the Mills Cargo & Shipping Co.

Technically, she was a _future_  daughter-in-law. And her half-wit of a fiance was the eighth in line to a fortune she had her eye on. From the get-go, I could tell she was shrewd and crafty, from the way those watchful brown eyes regarded everyone in the room with only a cursory glance, just enough to gauge, but not to let anything on. She took me on sideways, playful fingers at her chin. She was very pretty, and if not older than she looked, then perhaps much too clever for her age. There was a fiery ambition to her that I recognised in myself; just as I also knew that someone as pretty and watchful as her was never an innocent, and likely had a secret of some kind. It was my job to find out what that secret was, and if it was anything that my company would be better off without.

She pretended to be surprised as I joined her at the table, straightening a little, a dance of leg under the table where a rather generous hem line stretched open to tease a line of naked flesh. I wasn't new to women using their bodies as a weapon, but having been estranged from my own wife for so very long, that didn't mean it didn't work on me. I wondered if adultery was her sin, and if it was, we could certainly be in business.

"Mrs. Mills, I take it?"

Her smile was thin, and not kind. But few enough people would know the difference. "Not yet." She held out a delicate hand to me. "Please. Call me Cora." She even batted a lash.

"Cora," I repeated, kissing her fingers ever so softly. "Pleasure. Frank Gold. I'm with Spinners Construction."

She hummed. "Ah. And here I thought you were just here for the food."

I smirked. _I like her_. "Well. I need a pretense."

"Mm. Don't we all?" She looked about, that long black satin glove teasing fingers against her long neck, like ebony. Twisted little tendrils of chestnut danced around her ears, luscious diamonds perched on the tips. I wondered what she tasted like, and knew she was letting me consider it.

"What are you drinking?"

"Champagne," she answers, not looking back at me. It's almost a sad sigh, as if she craved something better, but it was the best she would get at such a dull event. I found the idea intriguing, considering she was one of our higher prospective clients. They had entrusted me with this, as much for my discerning eye as a need for complete discretion. I was blameless, sinless as far as anyone knew, and that spotless record was something they needed with someone so prominent.

"You sound disappointed," I muse. I watched her lip curl into something genuine, and she turns to me, humouring, I think.

"I am," she answers, a brow rising in challenge. "Do you have something better to offer?"

My first reaction was to offer her a bed, but I had a feeling that's exactly what she would expect a man to say. She's not shy with her body, sex would be the natural answer. So instead I tilted my head to the side, considering that, perhaps, instead of _assuming_  I would know what she wants, I would ask the lady herself. "I might. But I do believe you are the guest here, my dear." I sipped at my own drink, a dreadful travesty of soda and scotch, not letting my eyes leave hers. "What is it that you desire? If it is in my power, I will do my best to please you."

The nice thing is, it could still mean sex. I may be a clever man, but I am still a man. Her eyes darken, and I feel myself stir as well. It was one thing to have a woman -- any woman -- but it was another to have one so captivating. It was a rare enough thing to _find_ such a creature, and I had myself in the rare and enviable position of having her well within my reach. She was a queen, or perhaps a princess, a being of grace and beauty, and I was unlikely to find one such as her again. And yet... I wondered. I wondered if there was something more to be had. If she had some... Secret hidden up her sleeve, a kind of glory I hadn't had before.

I wondered about the taste of heaven I'd had all those years ago, and wondered if that's what she meant.

She studies me for a long moment, not sure if I mean more than what I mean, and then she laughs, turning away. "You are a very silly man."

"Why? I thought you would be used to people doing exactly what you want them to do."

"Mm. I enjoy it... But I'm not exactly used to it."

That catches me by surprise, as her eyes come back to me. This time, they're less certain. There's a confession on the tip of her tongue, I can see it. And I'm intrigued.

"I'm surprised. You look every inch a princess to me. I would imagine that there are men all around you, doing exactly as you wish. Fine stones, gorgeous gowns. Galas and parties thrown in your honour." She turns away, with a rather beguiling blush to her cheeks. "I'm but a penny-pusher from an up-and-coming construction company. Neanderthals who bang sticks together to make something that stays in one place. But you... You're practically royalty, my dear."

She scoffs lightly, a faint shake of her head. "I'm practically _married_ to royalty. _My dear."_ And she reaches into her little clutch, pulling out a slender silver case, and in it, handrolled little cigarettes. The thought baffles me -- this princess, smoking unfiltered, handrolled cigarettes. And I wonder who rolls them for her. But as she puts it in her mouth and lights it -- despite the fact that we're in a restaurant that I'm quite certain doesn't allow smoking -- I sense a change in her disposition.

There's something... Hmm. "Less formal" isn't quite right. It's almost like a drop of character. She slouches a little in her dress, and her posture becomes loose and ragged. Even her lips seem to purse a little more, and she reminds me more of my wife than of a princess. That lazy don't-give-a-fuck attitude that comes less of money and influence then of a surrender when you just don't have the power to change anything at all.

She reminds me of me. And I realize that she probably bought that leaf wholesale and rolls them herself.

"Say, may I have one of those?" I ask her. She smirks, a lazy thing that, yes, seems a great deal more genuine. She offers the silver case to me, and even shows me how the little lighter on the end works, and I hum in delight.

"Clever contraption."

"Very discreet," she replies, a sultry purr, and a wink to go with it that makes me chuckle.

I note that we're in a little side booth -- for discretion in business, usually -- but that it also means we aren't necessarily going to be bothered by help right away. It's a quiet night -- a Tuesday -- and no one seems to be worried by us. It's private. So I move a little closer, not invading her space or making a come on, but in a conspiring sort of way.

"So... Now I'm _more_ intrigued. How does a girl like you... End up marrying a man like that? Hmm?" I take a deep, long drag... And if I taste something in it that I don't recognize, I chalk it up to being an exotic tobacco.

She laughs, a low, dangerous thing. "Oh, if I told you... You wouldn't believe me."

"Indulge me."

Her eyes flit to me sideways. It had been a warning. A polite one, but a warning nonetheless. She shrugs. "Fine. I... Heh. I happen to run my own little... empire, I suppose you would say."

"Okay." I sip my scotch, which tastes a bit more exquisite, now that I've a smoke to go with it.

She scrunches her face up at me in a way that says she doesn't really want to go on, but I wait with sincerity, and she rolls her eyes. "Okay... And." She waves a hand in a very sassy manner that is decidedly not ladylike, and much more my style. "And... I have earned my way up this far." She takes a drag. "Good drugs will buy you a lot of friends. The better the drugs, the better the friends." She blows out, slow and languid as she says this last, her eyes heavy, a coy smirk on her lips as she looks at me.

I realize now why this tastes different. I swallow, recognizing the pinecone scent for what it is. Exotic tobacco indeed. I give a soft cough. "Mm. I imagine that's a fair observation." I drink from my scotch again, savouring the difference in taste. _Hmm. So. This is marijuana. Goes down easy... You hardly notice it._

"Do you like it?" she teases, giggling to herself.

I give a small chuckle myself, smiling. _What a cheery thing_. "Aye... Aye, I do. It's nice." I even take another long draught of it, sighing, licking my lips. "Mind... I've not a ton of experience in that kind of thing."

"Aww. Frankie, you need to get out more."

I bite my lip, eyes sparkling. Most people would die for calling me 'Frankie', and yet on her lips, it's even endearing. Or maybe it's the pot. "Mm. Maybe I do." And then I say something that, in my right mind, would never have occurred to me, much less have made it out of my mouth. "Sorry, it's just... Well, since my wife left, I've not done much of anything fun." I hear this madness, and a teeny tiny voice in my head wonders what in the hell I said that for, but I'm a bit more intrigued by this fascinating flavor combination.

She leans on a fist. "Oh? And when was this?"

"Chh... Years, now. Several years. Bae was just a child. He's in high school, now. Something on ten years or so?" I frown, marveling it had been that long. "God, I'm old." And I laugh, and she laughs, and she hums, biting her lip.

She looks delicious. I mean, she looked delicious before, but she looks so good...

"...You do. You look delicious."

She hums again. I really like the humming. "I've been told that."

"I do mean it." I take another drag, sighing. "And I'm not saying that because I'm single and you're wearing that dress, or because you're _completely_ my type. I mean that because you _are_. You look absolutely delicious." I lick my lips, wondering if absolute honesty has ever helped a man any more than it seems to be helping me now, as she turns to me with twinkling eyes and a smile that is so warm and genuine, I just want to kiss it off her face. "I would have you. In a heartbeat. If you would let me."

She bites her lip, and that dark spike in her eyes. "Mm. If I let you?"

I nod. "If you let me."

She narrows her eyes, and grunts, as if considering it. "An interesting proposition. Most men... If they want something, they just... _take_ it. You know?"

"Oh, no no no..." I shake my head. "No, I don't do that. See... If I just took it... Hmm? It would be me. All me. _My_   wants. _My_   desires." I pout. "You don't come into it. An' tha's a shame, you know?" I hear my brogue getting thicker, and it makes me grin. "When you have sex... It's bad enough ya don know what yer doin'. Wha'she like? Wha'she don like? Wha'bout me?" I lick my lips again, and I can't stop. This _taste_... "There is a whole world of exploration there. And if you just go in, guns blazin', ya miss all the best parts, yanno? The quiet little secret corners." She's staring at me now, the fag hanging from her lips, plump red caught in her teeth. Her eyes are black, and her hand is at my knee, clawing. "What if she likes the slow and sweet torture, huh? Or the rough biting and clawsomes, ah? Wha'iff..." I swallow hard, trying to keep my train of thought, because that claw is going _higher_. "Wha'iff... Tha' girl. Has the _best_   blowjob you never had, ah? Wha'iff there's seven tricks what could rock yer world, an you never stopped to ask, hmm?"

"Frank..." Her voice is a complaint, a whisper, and it's so close.

"Hmm?"

"Shut up."

Her lips are on mine, and she tastes of sweet champagne and the smokes, and that bubble gum tongue is between my lips, and teasing mine. Those red claws are at my neck, and in my hair, and my arms are around her. I've enough thought to put the smoke down before my own hands slide over her silk, teasing me, that sweet whisper of fabric and flesh, and she moans into me, and I'm melting... I'm melting, and it's a kind of heaven again, and I've _missed this_ , so much, even if it's completely new and different, and this is a new arse I'm grabbing, and new breasts on mine, and new lips on my neck, and I let out a gasp as she bites... A hiss of breath, and my grip tightens. And she licks over the little mark, with a jealous little purr, and she's like a mischievous cat, and I _like it_. I like it a lot.

She leans back, straddling me, and my teeth are grit, and my hands firm on her wide and lovely hips, and she's all scarlet and chestnut and pale porcelain, and I reach up to take those lips again, and she pulls back at just the last second. I let out a pained sigh, and she smiles, before giving me those lips, and we crush each other for a long moment.

When we part again, my eyes are black as sin, and so are hers. She teases a hand from my hair, and over my cheek, smiling softly at the bristles I can feel.

"Mm... Scruffy. I like."

I swallow hard. "...If you would have me."

"I think I _would_ ," she answers. She moves off of me, managing to look perfect and graceful even as she climbs off the lap of a man who's not her husband or fiance, and as she begins to move away, and turns just so slightly to offer a hand to me, I realize she's not wearing her engagement ring. I wonder if that's so she can pretend she's not engaged, or if there's a memo I've missed, but I'm pretty sure that's not the real matter at hand. I take that hand, but reach over to collect her satchel and drink first, handing it to her, and she purrs again.

"Ooh... So well trained."

"I said I'd do my best to please," I reply, and down my own drink, and snatch the last of my joint. "After you, my dear."

She bites her lip. "Oh, don't worry, darling. After, and before, and and after again..."

I inhale deep, and let out a deep sigh, knowing that whatever else she gives me, if it was as good as that, I would happily do whatever she asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BWA HA HA HAAAA!!! It's a little rough, and I know, lots of Bae exposition in the top, but I want to have the boy situated. I also kind of want to get his age established (and some reasonable time jumping) as well as that kind of begruntled, over-bearing-father thing going. The money issues of college will be a contributing factor. And I don't care what anyone says, I think #GoldenHeart is a hot ship, even if I know my Belle hates Cora with a burning passion. Part of why I don't write them as much as I would. BUT HEY! It happened! It was hot! It has lasting consequences! DEAL WITH IT.
> 
> Other notes: I know, continuity with Cora's engagement to Henry is a little... Ehh. But I wanted to make that connection of rising nobodies in an intriguing way. And, scarlet woman, cheating with Rumple while engaged, accurate. And I have to put this all in the same human lifespan, so she knows the "magick" more than he does. I'll reverse the roles back later, don't worry -- I even have in mind a way to rewrite her Wonderland "exile", so don't panick.
> 
> Fun facts: the rolled smokes is partly because (a) it's marijuana, gotta put the weed in there somehow and (b) that's something that's very much a Bobby Carlyle thing. Sad fact is, if you smoke a lot, it's just CHEAPER to buy papers and tobacco and roll it yourself. Something Lana and Bobby used to bond over, until the traitorous wench went straight (I say tongue-in-cheek, paraphrasing Bobby, because it sucks when your friend stops smoking, not because I hate Lana or anything), even. So, I like putting this in early with #GoldenHeart, to be referenced again later. And yes, marijuana is being used in this case as a gateway drug. The fact that it makes you extra "observant" just made this scene a little extra funny to write, I hope you guys enjoyed high!Gold as much as I did -- continuing internal dialogue into spoken dialogue in particular made me giggle. Was kind of hilarious getting a second hand high as I wrote, you'd be amazed what kind of chemistry mixups you can get if you connect well enough with a character. You should see me when Joker gets manic! And yes, I'm cutting before smut because I'm a tease. Get over it.
> 
> ...And I love making my Rumple a bit submissive. But only enough to be endearing. He's still very clawsome and growly. Bottom from the top, perhaps? He can be outright switchy, I like to mix things up a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Z is Zoso, get it? The implication is Gold found marijuana, but the shot he got hit with was heroin. It is described as pure euphoria, a good-feeling that transcends everything, but is paired with a crash of crushing depression and hopelessness that is nothing short of heartwrenching. They also say that it never feels as good as the first time, and it's something that you can get hooked on VERY quickly - as soon as three days, said one - and your body actually builds a tolerance for it very quickly as well - you need more and more and more to get your high, and with the inconsistency of your supplier, it's not too difficult to overdose, depending on the strength of the product. And needing a stronger and stronger dose, it also racks up the bill very quickly, going from a $10 high to the four digit nonsense you see in Pulp Fiction. And that's what, sixties money? It can get out of hand very fast, and I imagine it's an experience that sticks with you.
> 
> And Rumplestiltskin's drinking is canon, thank you very kindly. Alcoholics are one of my favourite things.


End file.
